The hallway was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. Loid stood beside you, dressed in his black tactical suit, the cap pulled low over his golden hair and a mask obscuring most of his face. Only his eyes were visible—sharp, calculating, yet soft with a tinge of worry.

—"The door."

He muttered, breaking through your thoughts. He was waiting for you to do what you were supposed to—open it, just as the plan dictated.

—“Sometimes.”—He said softly.—“I wonder what’s going through that head of yours.”

Loid let out a small sigh, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. He always had this way of expressing his frustration without fully showing it—like a parent trying to be patient with a particularly stubborn child. You could feel his eyes on you as you hesitated for a moment longer, and when you glanced back, you saw that look again.

—"Never mind."—Reaching for the gun holstered at his side.—"Stay behind me."

His eyes narrow, he doesn't know why he's saying it, you never listen to him.